Scratching the (Cue) Ball
by BunnyKat
Summary: Clint and Natasha discover a pool table in Stark Tower and decide to play… On top of it.


Title: Scratching the (Cue) Ball  
Author: Bunny  
Pairing/Characters: Clint/ Natasha  
Word Count: 3700-ish  
Rating: M  
Warnings: sexy sexy time, language, blatantly ridiculous innuendos  
Disclaimer: I just like to play in the sandbox, have no actual claim here.

Authors Note: Honey whiskey was my poison of choice while writing, think I caught a majority of my mistakes upon editing though. Written for the prompt-a-thon on livejournal's be_compromised; based off of sugar_fey's prompt of "Sex on a pool table. Because reasons." Reasons I couldn't disagree with. And I think I'll be hard pressed to find anyone who does!  
A/N 2: I am a TERRIBLE billiards player, so any terms that I may have mucked up; my apologies. The terminology is for fun, not to strictly learn from. I gleaned the most from a Colorado State site explaining billiards.

Summary: Clint and Natasha discover a pool table in Stark Tower and decide to play… On top of it.

* * *

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"You don't know how?"

"Never needed to."

"You're not bullshitting me?"

"You can always tell when I'm bluffing."

"You've really never played pool?"

"Does snooker count?"

A blank stare was his only reply.

"Or I half played Carrom once?"

The archer's face went even more slack with disbelief. "Do not ever confuse the American classic with that overly complicated French crap." Natasha's lip struggled to not quirk upwards at his instant defense. "All the times you've been in a bar, watching people on stake outs, none of them played standard eight ball pool?"

"Of course some were, but I was always focused on the mission."

"You never considered using the game as a way to approach your target?"

"Of course I considered it, but you know I only approach when I am certain I have the upper hand. And since I never knew what to do…"

To say that the newly refurbished Stark Tower had many floors would be a mass understatement. So while on their occasional leave from SHIELD assignments, Clint and Natasha had taken to exploring their new home. Knowing the top ten floors were research and development they had opted to explore from the bottom up. Along the way over the weeks, the pair had discovered various office's, work out areas, swimming pools, living quarters, entertainment rooms, music rooms, wine/alcohol storage, art displays, dance floors, industrial sized kitchens, and more than a few to be determined areas.

Suddenly on floor 37 an intimately sized room was found with warm wall colors, a bar, hushed lighting, and a billiard table. The harsh spot light over the table bed almost beckoned them to come explore the room. With near childlike excitement Clint immediately detoured over to the highlighted object. Sensing his playful mood, Natasha locked the door and strode over to the bar. One eye peeking from under her flaming hair she looked on as his fingers gently roamed over the green billiard cloth while she grabbed them drinks. A beer for him, a vodka for her.

Approaching with his drink held out Clint's eyes met hers before gleefully inviting her for a match. Grimacing, Natasha took a large gulp of the burning liquid as she broke the news.

"Gotta say, it's amazing how you still manage to surprise me."

"Well then, Barton, teach me," the assassin purred. She sauntered the short distance to the table he leaned against, maintaining eye contact the entire time. Stepping right up to his personal bubble, she leaned in even closer to place her glass along the wooden edge. Her hands trailed up his arms to shoulders and eventually to rest behind his neck. "You mentioned now and then that you've wanted to take a more domestic approach to certain aspects of life. Perhaps next time we go out in the world, if the opportunity arises, we can play a round."

"If you can handle it, darling." The glimmer of a tease in her eye, the not so subtle way she licked her lip, the tick of the eyebrow. It was beyond obvious his partner in crime was challenging him to more than just billiards. A small laugh escaped him as he brought his lips briefly down against hers. Immediately he released her, stepping away to pick out a pool cue hanging nearby on the wall. "Now one of the first things to get a handle on is the terminology of the game."

Judging by the deliberate but quiet lift of her eyebrow, Clint could tell she was not certain if he caught her meaning. Attempting to appear serious he approached her with the wooden object, presenting it upon reaching her. The red head accepted it in her left hand, little emotion displayed on her face. "It's a cue."

"A cue stick," he clarified. "Care to name the parts?"

With one almost bored finger she tapped the top skinny portion, "This is the pointy end that hits the ball."

"It's the tip," he defined with a straight face. Placing his hand over hers, he directed Natasha to move down the smooth wood, making her rub on an area while he explained. "Here we have the shaft where the tip is attached. And down here is the butt; the larger and opposite end of the tip."

It was clear to him Natasha had to struggle to contain her amusement upon suddenly understanding his purpose. "Is there a preferred way to handle the cue stick?"

"First thing's first, checking the shaft stiffness."

"Does it really matter how stiff one's shaft is?"

"Well the stiffer it is, the more force it takes to deflect the shaft at its tip."

"I can see how some people probably prefer more deflection from shaft to tip," she conceded. "But how do you suggest holding it?"

"The grip is how the butt of the cue is held in your hand, let me set up and show you." Clint removed a triangle from under the table bed, followed swiftly by numerous colored balls. He held up each one with explanation. "This is the cue ball, you will use this to manipulate the other balls in play and should not be let into a pocket. These are the object balls, they will go into the pockets of the table throughout play. This last one is the 8 ball, it is the very last to go into a pocket."

Natasha glided around the table slowly, watching with hooded eyes as her lover set things in place. He arranged the colored balls with swift precision within the plastic triangle before returning it to its original hiding place. Taking the white ball he came to stand next to her on the other side of the table.

"I'll make the first move; break the set up to start the game." Clint held up the cue ball before setting it on the green with a bit of over dramatic flair, a motion Natasha worked to not roll her eyes at. "Now for this first pass, and any time after the cue ball falls into a pocket, it must be placed back here. This action is called cue ball in hand behind head string."

"That's an oddly descriptive mouthful," she observed lightly.

The archer swiftly brought the wooden cue up parallel to the bed, moving it back and forth in his hand, eyes focused completely on the white ball. "This is called a stroke, how the cue is moved while a shot is being executed." With a speed and accuracy that his skill set allowed him, the tip connected with the cue ball sending it colliding into the waiting balls. Various colors and stripes scattered along the cloth. Standing up seeming quite proud with himself, he asked, "Would you prefer little balls or big balls?"

"Not often one get's a choice."

Pointing at the solid colored object ball, he clarified, "Little balls," before moving on to point at the striped ones, "Big balls."

Observing the position of the round acrylic pieces along the table top for her favor, Natasha requested, "I like big balls."

"Somehow I knew that would be your reply," Clint muttered amused, leveling back down into position. His cue ball clacked against a solid orange to a corner pocket, the next ricocheted off of a spectator ball to sink a solid green, followed by a connect with a solid yellow but no pocket was found.

Finding it to be her turn the red head leaned into position, mimicking Clint's previous motions. Upon connecting with her cue stick, the white cue ball grazed along a striped red one before promptly falling into a pocket. She frowned in frustration, disappointed by the apparent difficulty this game now provided.

"Oooh, you scratched that ball," his lighthearted tone in the announcement the only thing keeping her from becoming angry. "Here, let me help you. Take your stance." Slowly bending at the waist she imitated herself from moments ago. Leaning behind her bent body, Clint's arms wrapped around hers to direct her motions. "You're going to want to choke up on that shaft, move the grip up a little."

"Is the physical contact strictly required?" she asked in a monotone voice, slightly leaning back into his touch. To any spectator it would appear as though she were annoyed, but Barton knew her well enough to recognize her teasing.

Gripping on a little tighter he chuckled, the warm breath tickling the back of her neck. "Now to get this shot you're going to want to try a piston stroke." His touch traced up along her arm to her elbow to push it down a bit, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. "That's where the elbow remains parallel with the rest of the table."

Natasha shook hair out of her face so she might get a better look at him on her next query. "Is it alright that the shaft is running along my fingers while I stroke?"

A low rumble echoed through his chest. "I do believe you're getting the hang of this game."

Delight bubbling in her chest, Natasha slammed the stick against the cue ball causing it to emit a sharp, resounding clack upon contact with a red striped ball. Clint hissed in disapproval as he stood up straight.

"I should have known you'd be a Banger."

"A… Banger."

"A novice who tends to hit their balls harder than needed."

"Then what's the fancy term for a skilled individual?"

"There are a few; Grinder or a Ball Handler."

Pausing a moment, Natasha spun on one heel with her no nonsense face on. "Now I know you're just messing with me."

Unable to subdue his grin in the close proximity to her, Clint took her by the elbows to turn her back to the table. "I promise you can look them all up later, but for now let's finish our play. You managed to sink a ball on that last hit."

She reached behind to cup him through his pants, her lips and teeth nibbling a pressure point in his neck. "When exactly do I get to sink these balls?"

The man behind her emitted a low groan that less trained ears would have missed it, but was something Natasha picked up on as she licked his jaw. "You still have some other terms to learn."

"I do remember that a foul is a hickey."

"That's in snooker."

"Positive you don't want to snooker me?"

"Let's see if you can do this squeeze shot, then I'll snooker you all you want." Both paused in a grimace. "That wasn't my smoothest sounding line."

"Clarify a squeeze shot. See if you can't redeem yourself."

Moving her hair back to one side, he leaned in to press his lips against the bare skin on her neck. "The ball needs to pass through this narrow gap here, between the edge and my little ball to connect with your big one."

Rolling her shoulders she took a deep breath to focus, she was suddenly done playing and wanted to move onto a different game. The feel of his kiss along her pressure point certainly didn't help to alleviate said desire. As discretely as possible she rubbed her thighs together to get some relief from the frustration as she repositioned herself for her next shot. Ignoring the constant pull from down below, Natasha closed her eyes and pushed the cue. The familiar thunk of a ball falling to the lower levels of the table graced her ears.

Tossing her cue stick on the table, she sighed in heated urgency as she ripped her shirt off over her head, "Now can I show you all I've learned?"

Before he could accurately reply, Natasha pulled him in close by the buckle of his belt. As she dropped to her knees he couldn't contain his smirk, her constant competitive nature a trait of hers he couldn't get enough of.

"First thing's first, I need to check shaft stiffness," she repeated back, unfastening his pants to pull out a plenty stiff cock. "Your cue ball is now in hand behind head string, preparing for that mouthful," she stated, dipping down to take his entire manhood to the back of her throat. The suddenness of the action caused his stomach to drop and Clint to grasp onto the lip of the table for some semblance of control, appreciating the deep sucking she did twice before leaning back.

Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she peered up at Clint; observing his tense state. An emotion of pride seeped across her features, both at how well she was playing, but also on the effect she was having on him. She wouldn't readily admit it, but the effect was more than mutual.

"Now this is the tip," she announced with a small tap before sucking her lips over the end of his member, lapping up the moisture found at the head. She rolled her tongue around the end for a few seconds, his knuckles turning white, before removing herself with a resounding pop.

"Fuck, Tasha…" Internally, he knew ever motion she did was deliberate; done to invoke a certain set of responses within him. He'd be damned if it didn't work. Though technically he was winning the match, he was about to lose the overall game. And at the moment, he absolutely didn't care.

Getting her hands involved, Natasha took some time rubbing from base to just under the tip as his breathing proved difficulty in keeping steady. "Now here's the shaft, it's kept sturdy by the hands during the stroke." Quickly coming up from the floor Natasha's lithe form hopped onto the edge of the table, finger's digging into the flesh of his behind and yanked him close to her still covered center. "And of course, the butt which must be gripped for control." Releasing all contact of him, the spy pushed him away and slid back on the table bringing the abandoned cue stick across her lap. One leg crossed purposely on top of the other, her chin jutted up in amusement. "Looks like I'm becoming quite the Ball Handler."

"I think I'd prefer you to remain a Banger for a little longer."

In a blink of an eye, Clint had one hand on the pool cue the other on Natasha's shoulder. In a smooth move that amazed even him, he pushed both against the slate based pool table and jumped on top. Judging by Natasha's eyebrow raise was equally impressed, but it was a sight he did not have the chance to enjoy for long as he pressed his hungrily lips against hers. Her hands wandered down to caress his private shaft. He couldn't help himself as he thrust into her hand, bestowing a series of love bites along her shoulder to give back the pleasure she was giving him.

Simultaneously her hand stroked his that still held onto the pool cue whilst the other made his dick impossibly harder, using the same pressure and strokes against his digits and more sensitive areas. He allowed himself to enjoy her ministrations, burying his face into her neck and breathing hard to maintain a sense of control. Her scent combined with her actions caused control to be difficult to be maintained, but he pushed himself to his limit.

He felt his balls tighten, preparing for release, when he suddenly grabbed Natasha by her hips; sliding her roughly up the table. As the pool balls scattered and clacked indicating the current game ruined; her small, "Oomph," of surprised caused him to purr against her skin. She attempted to reach down to reclaim him, but the archer distracted her with a sharp nipple bite through the fabric of her bra. Upon her outward cry, it was evident to him she was going to be vocal on this encounter. A fact that more than suited him just fine.

Rough fingers ran along Natasha's sides and back as he popped the hook on her bra. Eagerly she assisted him in sliding off the now unnecessary piece of clothing, following which he traced along her chest using both his tongue and hands. The calloused texture added a sense of realism she never felt with anyone else; everything he did to her brought her front and center to the immediate present. His level of attention pushed her to her sensory brink. And she relished every extended second of it.

As Clint's tongue made its way down her stomach, she managed to use her feet to slide his trousers beyond the curve of his ass and down his thighs. Just as she accomplished this portion of her task, he slid her own pants and thin panties down and completely off of her legs. She sat up to check that he was now completely naked as well; but her partner placed a large hand against her chest, urging her to lay back. The cool green felt warmed quickly against her back momentarily before she arched up at the feel of his lips upon her lower ones.

Her hands gripped onto the edges of the table, one hand up above the other to the side, to resist the urge to grasp tightly onto his head. She wasn't sure why she couldn't contain the groans that continued to escape her, but gauging by Clint's hums and the bruise inducing fingertips along her hips; she was positive he was more than relishing in it. Upon a particularly sharp suck on her clit that burned through her whole body, Natasha's hips bucked. Her toes dug deep into his taught back muscles as she hovered on the edge of release.

"Clint, please," she murmured, attempting to sit up again. "Come here." His only reply was a calculated lick followed by another sharp suck; rendering her mute momentarily. "Dammit, Clint, I need you in me now, please," she managed to gasp out. "Please. I need to feel more of you."

He knew when the 'need' word comes out she was more than ready, and he's only more than happy to comply. His glistening form glided up hers, taking time to press his lips against her ribs and breasts. The muscles in his abdomen tightened as she wrapped her legs around him, urging him to come into her. Bestowing one more breathless kiss, he leaned back to maintain eye contact, before sliding into her. Clint adored watching her expression as they came together like this, it was one of the few times she absolutely let herself go; where he could see her free.

They always had to pause for just a moment, not just for the utter full feeling, but to appreciate the need for each other. Her fingers of her left hand tightened against the juncture of his neck and shoulder, getting a better angle as she pushed back into him. A steady rhythm began between the two, a dance between fast and slow. He snagged her wrist and flipped it above their heads onto the green, disrupting the order of the colored balls even more than already done. The coolness of the round acrylic a stark difference to the warmth of their bodies.

With acrobatics that he never tired to see her use, she used her impressive thigh muscles to flip him over. Now straddling on top, Natasha grinned triumphantly as she looked down on him and began to move. Between the rolling of her hips and the squeezing of her inner muscles, Clint knew he was not going to last much longer. Straining with more concentration than he'd care to admit, he met her thrust by thrust. Suddenly pulling her down flush against him, he reached down and struck her sharply on the behind. At the aroused fire in her eyes, he chuckled lightly and explained, "I do believe you scratched at some point here."

She returned the amused laugh, sitting back up and doubling her motions. Tasha leaned back farther, her hands resting by his knees; clearly lost in the moment. Wasting no time Clint reached down to rub at her now exposed clit. Seconds later the fiery red head above him shuddered, nails digging into his legs, letting out a cry from deep in her chest as she came apart. Her inner muscles spasmed tighter than before, causing his own thick cry of release to follow. Just as he finished pulsing into her, Natasha laid her heavily panting chest against his.

Basking in the aftershocks, Clint pressed his lips against the top of her hair while she sighed contentedly.

"So, just how many rooms do you think we can get away with having sex in before Jarvis gets tired of covering for us?"

The archer smiled and, though still inside her, peered up towards to be sure the door was still closed when something caught his eye. "Hey, the 8 ball's the only one that's still in play on the table."

Natasha craned her head up to see the final ball sitting right on the edge of the corner with the white cue ball mere inches away. She grabbed the wooden cue to tap the cue ball. It clacked against the black ball, sinking number 8 in the corner pocket. Setting the stick back down, she readdressed a relatively shocked Clint. Laughing lightly, she caressed his face into a gentle kiss. "Beginners luck," she muttered between kisses.

Clint joined in her mirth, stroking her hair back as his tongue pushed against hers, "We are definitely not allowed to play a round out in public."


End file.
